


Pictures Of Us

by Lafaiette



Series: Spideypool Secret Santa 2013 [1]
Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Photographs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he wonders if Peter’s talent and love for photography - and love for <i>him</i> - could make a picture with him in it beautiful despite his scars, his ugliness, his monstrosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures Of Us

Wade doesn’t like photos.

Well, it’s not that he doesn’t like them _per se_ , he just hates those in which he appears. Especially when he’s not wearing his mask.

They have no mercy, they tell the absolute and undeniable truth, they show only reality and Wade doesn’t like receiving the painful reminder of his face. He knows too well how he looks like.

But Peter, of course, loves them. They are his passion and his work, after all. The old camera he always puts around his neck before going out is his most precious possession, he shows for it the same care Wade shows for his weapons.

Thanks God Peter is a clever and sensible man, so he never forced Wade to take a picture together, he never commented on his loathing, he _understands_ and Wade is extremely grateful for that.

Still, he can see how Peter  longingly looks at him sometimes while holding his camera, as if he wants to ask him something, something so simple and easy - just an image to put on the wall or on the nightstand -, but terribly difficult for Wade. The scarred man feels his heart swells with sadness every time Peter sends him one of his silent prayers, because he wants to do it and make him happy, but at the same time he knows that picture would be too painful and almost _derisory_ for him to look at. So he averts his eyes from Peter’s, pretending not to have noticed his request, and keeps talking, because that’s what he does better, apart from shooting.

He always tries to make up for this looking at the other photos Peter took. They are beautiful, astounding, gorgeous - _because you are not in them_ , a cruel voice reminds Wade - and the scarred man is amazed by his lover’s talent. He listens to Peter’s words and stories about them, about the difficulty to take some of them, the beautiful landscapes which can be seen from the skyscrapers, the way you have to pay attention to light and shadows to have the best results. He loves listening to his voice, he loves listening to all of this, because Peter’s passion is great and admirable and Wade is proud of him.

Sometimes he wonders if Peter’s talent and love for photography - and love for _him_ \- could make a picture with him in it beautiful despite his scars, his ugliness, his monstrosity. If Peter’s love could actually transform reality. Wade loves thinking it’s like that, that Peter could really do this, and he also thinks that maybe, after all, he could try. Just one picture, but he could give it a chance and Peter would be so happy…

But then Wade looks accidentally in the mirror after a shower or sees his own reflection on a window and he grits his teeth, breath and heart heavy.

There isn’t just his external ugliness, he thinks. Peter is helping him so much with his soul and heart and everything, but photos can take out _everything_ from a person and Wade doesn’t want to see the monster he still thinks he is.

One day Peter’s plea isn’t silent.

“Wade…” Peter softly calls as he hugs him from behind. Wade is making breakfast, the stove is on, so he just turns slightly his head to look at Peter with a smile and a wink.

“I know you are always hungry after our morning sex, baby boy, but these pancakes are masterpieces that require time and attention.”

“I know.” Peter softly laughs and Wade notices he’s hugging him in a weird way, just resting his head on his shoulder while his back is weirdly arched as if he doesn’t want to rest on him.

“Why are you standing like that?” Wade smiles quizzically rising a hairless eyebrow. Peter’s smile turns into an embarrassed worried frown and so does Wade’s.

“Does your back hurt after our last patrol?” he asks with a hint of panic in his voice. He hates when his baby boy gets hurt. He turns to Peter, forgetting the pancakes, and finally sees what is bothering the young man so much.

“What are you doing with your camera around your neck?” Wade hopes his tone isn’t scared, he really hopes so. “It’s Sunday today, you don’t have work, Petey.”

“I know.” Peter suddenly looks so worried, but also hopeful and Wade understands.

“No.” he nervously laughs shaking his head before the young man can even speak. “Bad idea, Peter.”

“Please, Wade!” Peter exclaims moving between him and the stove, so he can’t pretend to focus on the food. “Just one photo! You are my boyfriend and I don’t have a goddamn picture of you in my wallet! There isn’t a single picture of _us_ in the house and that’s terribly wrong!”

“What would appear on that photo is terribly wrong.” Wade coldly retorts pushing Peter away and resuming his cooking. He tries to calm down, but his heart is beating fast, his hands are sweating and he doesn’t have the courage to look at Peter, because he knows he’s right, he knows how much sadness there is in his big, brown eyes right now.

Peter is stubborn, as stubborn as him. He turns off the stove with a swift motion and stands in front of Wade again, frowning with resolution.

“You know I don’t care about your look.” he says and Wade sighs, looking away. Peter cups his cheek and turns his head to look at him in the eyes, murmuring: “Wade, please, don’t be so scared.” He smiles and Wade’s heart skips a beat, because Peter’s smile is always so bright and sweet and makes him feel content and _loved_. “You made a lot of progress already. Now you never wear your mask indoors, we make love _naked_ every day and…”

“I could never look at it.” Wade laughs mirthlessly. He’s avoiding Peter’s eyes again. “Your photos are so beautiful, Peter, and I would just ruin it. Me in a picture with you?” He breathes out a shaky laugh again, shaking his head. “Sorry, baby boy, that’s really a bad idea.”

Heavy silence falls in the room. Peter’s hand keeps staying on his cheek and the young man is still and quiet; Wade can’t see - doesn’t want to see - his face, so he just waits.

After long seconds, Peter strokes his face, saying softly: “Okay. I won’t insist.” His voice is kind and understanding, but it contains a hint of sadness Wade can’t ignore.

Peter goes back to their bedroom and Wade fears he does that to hide his tears, but the young man comes out again almost immediately, without his camera, smiling again.

“Please hurry with those pancakes, I’m starving!” he laughs and Wade sighs with relief. The day proceeds normally, but guilt crushes Wade and gnaws at his heart as cancer gnaws at his skin.

That night he hugs and holds Peter close with powerful gentleness, every kiss an apology, every caress a way to beg for his forgiveness.

Peter understands, he always does, and returns his kisses until they are both asleep.

 

\- - -

 

Peter loves Wade and he loves photos and one day he finally gives in. For months his mind has found the perfect spots in the house for their framed (and not framed) photos and one day, as he gets up to go to work, courage comes to him.

Wade is still sleeping, snoring loudly into his pillow, and Peter hates himself for what he’s about to do, but as soon as he hears the familiar _‘snap’_ of his camera and Wade’s figure is burned into the film, his heart bursts with joy.

That night he has a mission with the Avengers and Wade stays at home, looking at him with not-so-well-hidden worry. Peter gives him a soft kiss before exiting from the window, but he doesn’t shoots a web to the near building. He hides in the shadows, watching Wade scratching his bald head, letting out a sigh and finally heading towards the sofa to watch some TV and distract himself.

Peter takes out his camera from his web-pocket, thanking every deity above, because Wade believed him when he said he was gonna bring it on mission to show good pictures of Spider-Man to Jonah.

But he takes pictures of _Wade_ , Wade laughing at the TV and hugging Peter’s favorite pillow to smell his scent. With every _‘snap’_ and _‘click’_ those images become permanent, eternal, and Peter feels lighter and heavier at the same time.

The next day, as Wade is cooking breakfast again and the TV is turn on with max volume because there is a morning special about _Golden Girls_ , Peter silently gets up from bed, hides behind the doorframe and takes pictures of Wade with bright eyes, wearing just boxers and a pair of cute pink slippers, making him breakfast with a smile.

He keeps doing this for days until it becomes too risky to hide the beloved, precious photos in his bag. There are too many, now, and Peter must find them a good hiding place, somewhere he can always take them from to admire them when Wade isn’t at home and he misses him. A place Wade will never find.

In the end, Peter uses an old shoes box, fills it to the brim with pictures of Wade and hides it in their closet, under a pile of clothes, socks and other packages containing various and useless things everybody keeps in their home.

And so, when Wade goes to missions with the Thunderbolts or Fury begrudgingly hires him for something, Peter has something to look at, comforting images of domesticity. They may be stolen, taken without permission - and it’s painful for Peter, it really is -, but it’s the only act of selfness he’s going to concede himself.

There are dozens of photos in the box and Peter loves them all; some are blurred because he had to hurry and be quiet, but the others are perfect, taken with good light and angulation.

His favorite is the one where Wade is peacefully sleeping, a smile on his lips, his features relaxed and calm. Peter would give an arm to put all of this on the wall, above their bed,  but he knows Wade needs time and help with this. He will give them to him and for now he will look at these pictures alone, until the moment is right.

 

\- - -

 

“Shit!” Wade curses under his breath as he rummages in his bag. He can’t find his throwing knives and he’s mad, because he will need those the next morning for a difficult mission of… precision.

His memory may not be the best, but he’s pretty careful with his weapons, so he knows he never used those knives before and they should still be in the house somewhere. But that’s where his memory refuses to collaborate: he has no idea where they could be, so he searches every corner and recess of the apartment.

“Think, Wade, think…” he grumbles as he looks under his and Peter’s bed. The young man is at work right now and couldn’t help him even if Wade called him like he did when he couldn’t find his Spider-Man briefs. So he keeps searching with grumbles, curses and childish whines until he opens the closet and spots the several boxes in the bottom of it.

“Bingo!” he exclaims triumphantly, because that’s the only place he still hasn’t checked so the knives _must_ be there.

“What are these boxes anyway?” Wade mumbles absentmindedly as he peeks into them, closing them and putting them back into the closet without much attention. One of them is a shoes box pretty light, so the knives can’t be there, but Wade is as curious as a monkey and opens it the same.

He pales visibly under the gruesome scar pattern of his face, eyes full of horror and scared surprise.

His face and body are depicted everywhere on the pictures inside the box. He’s the protagonist of them, an _unaware_ protagonist. He recognizes certain scenes and days and his heart threatens to explode with confusion, rage and despair.

Well, at first he can feel only _rage_ , but thankfully it subsides and Wade can think rationally again.

He knows _why_ Peter did this, but the stinging sadness remains and Wade doesn’t have the courage to examine the photos, he can’t bring himself to see if he was right about Peter’s talent and its magic which can transform reality.

He thinks, thinks and thinks again, his eyes fixated on the single picture that he first saw: it depicts him sleeping with a smile, squishing Peter’s pillow.  

Wade’s face is unreadable as he slowly closes the box and gets up; his mind is still looking at that photo, his heart still beating too hard and he knows what to do.

 

\- - -

 

Peter comes back home earlier today and Wade greets him with a deep kiss and a strong grip on his hand.

“At least let me take off my jacket!” Peter laughs and hums happily when he sees dinner ready and warm waiting for them on the stove.

“You made dinner and it’s not Mexican food!” he jokes fondly removing his shoes to wear comfier slippers. Wade is weirdly quiet and Peter glances at him with a perplexed smile before admiring his work: it’s _real_ dinner, a hot soup to warm their stomach in this cold winter day.

“I must be dreaming.” Peter snorts as he turns to the kitchen counter to take cutlery and glasses and arrange the table for dinner. Just as he’s taking the last napkin, talking to Wade who’s standing behind his back, photos fall in front of him, landing on the counter and floor with a sound incredibly loud for something so light and small.

Peter freezes and time seems to stop for long minutes. With ragged breath, he turns to Wade, trembling, but the scarred man pins him on the counter and whispers in his ear: “Look at them, Peter, and tell me which one is your favorite.”

“Wade…”

“Please.”

Wade’s tone isn’t angry or unnaturally neutral - _that_ would mean Wade is really upset; instead it’s sad, but also calm and genuinely curious. Peter never used his super strength with him, it has never been necessary because they always _talked_ , and he realizes with a rush of relief that things aren’t different this time either. He relaxes a bit, Wade’s grip strong but not painful, and he looks down at the pictures with a lump in his throat.

Many are upside down, turned over, others fell on the floor, but he immediately finds his favorite, the one where Wade looks so content. He takes it, sliding it on the counter, and he jumps when Wade’s hand smashes on the cold surface to stop him and the scarred man bites his earlobe, whispering: “Why this one, Peter?”

“Because you look at peace.” Peter answers honestly and moans when the older man gropes his butt.

“And…?”

“Because you are smiling.” he continues, but his voice is weak because Wade’s big hands now have removed his belt and his jeans are now dropped around his ankles. He feels two fingers brushing the crack of his butt and moans louder.

“And why did you take it, Peter?” Wade insists, grinding against him. Peter’s head falls on his chest, he grabs the edge of the counter until his knuckles are white and pants hoarsely: “Because… because it was beautiful and…” he stops talking when Wade’s grip around him become stronger and Peter raises his head to look at him.

Wade’s eyes show a strange passion, a fire Peter can’t recognize, but he knows it isn’t a bad sign, that Wade isn’t angry.

“Beautiful?” the scarred man repeats with hoarse voice and Peter defiantly nods; he would like to keep his stern and serious look for longer, but totally gives up when Wade’s hand find his erection and frees it from his underwear.

“Did you really want to take those pictures so badly?” Wade’s gruff voice whispers into Peter’s ear as the young man bucks into the scarred hand and whimpers, nodding erratically.

Wade’s thumb rubs over the head as his other hand fondles Peter’s balls and Peter comes with a shout on the counter and photos, followed by Wade who gasps into his shoulder.

Peter doesn’t allow himself time to rest; he immediately turns to Wade and pulls him closer, not caring about the status of their clothes or kitchen.

“Wade, I’m sorry.” he murmurs wrapping his arms around the scarred man’s waist, desperately clutching at him and refusing to let him go. “I shouldn’t have done it, I’m sorry! I… I just wanted…”

“I know, Peter.” Wade softly answers and his voice sounds sad, but also guilty and there is a hint of something else in it Peter can’t quite grasp.

“Do you want me to throw them away?” Peter asks even if the thought hurts him immensely. He breathes more easily when Wade shakes his head and he frantically puts on his pants because they need to talk about this, it’s important Wade understands he didn’t want to hurt him.

“Wade, listen…” Peter continues when he can finally walk again without stumbling, but his boyfriend precedes him.

“Do you really think those photos are beautiful?”

Peter opens and closes his mouth, taken by surprise, then he frowns almost indignantly.

“Of course I think that! They _are_ beautiful!” He goes back to the counter and takes his favorite as well as others not dirty with sperm.

“God, Wade, if you could just… just look at them with my same eyes!” Peter exclaims showing the pictures to the other man, who finally gazes at them. His marred face is blank and emotionless, but his eyes are filled with that strange fire again.

“I didn’t take these to hurt or betray you, Wade.” Peter softly explains showing him another picture. “Stop seeing monsters. Please don’t…” he sighs and cups a scarred and uneven cheek. “Please don’t hate yourself anymore. What appears on these photos isn’t wrong, _you_ are not wrong. These pictures of you are beautiful and _human_!” Peter breathes out a fond laugh, resting his forehead on Wade’s shoulder as he keeps looking at the images. “They are the best ones I have ever taken.”

The older man lets out a deep sigh, then quietly hands Peter the photos and says with small voice: “We should clean off this mess, baby boy.”

At the end the pictures are put back into their box and the box is put back into the closet; they eat and Wade finally seems normal again. He laughs and jokes, but there is a certain sweetness and slowness in his movements and words, as if he is thinking hard about something important and beautiful and wants to wait a little before sharing it with Peter. Silence falls between them during dinner, but it’s not uncomfortable and Peter waits and observes quietly.

He holds Wade all night and even if he knows he is not angry or hurt, he keeps holding his hand and then his body until Wade tells him before falling asleep:

“Don’t worry, baby boy.”

The words are mumbled, but there is that same content smile on Wade’s face when he pronounces them and Peter realizes everything is really normal and okay again. His guilt is not completely gone, but when he nests into Wade’s neck and the scarred man hugs him back, Peter feels at peace too.  
  
  


\- - -

 

“We should put one here.”

Wade points at the empty space above the headboard of their bed and Peter raises his eyebrows.

“One what?”

“A taco.” Wade giggles seeing the young man’s dumbfounded face and adds: “A photo, baby boy!”

“…Oh!”

Peter fidgets on the spot, unsure of what to do. His heart is jumping in his ribcage with joy and love, but his brain is considering the logical aspect of this and he wonders if Wade isn’t doing this for _him_.

“Wade, you don’t have to…”

“I _want_ to.” the older man reassures him with his brightest smile. He looks shy all of a sudden and says in a low voice: “You were right, having no picture of us together in the house is not good.”

Peter looks at him for long seconds, then slowly goes to him and squeezes his hand, eyes locked with his.

“Thank you.” he says and Wade scratches his head, embarrassed and blushing. When Peter wraps his arms around his waist and kisses his neck, he clears his voice and timidly strokes the soft brown hair.

“Let’s do this already, Peter, before it gets dark. There must be good light, right? That’s what you always tell me.”  he grumbles and Peter laughs, because no matter how the big guy tries to look manly and edgy, he is a giant, shy teddy bear.

When Peter takes his camera, Wade looks legitimately scared and stiff, but as soon as the self-timer is activated, Peter rushes to him, pulls him closer and whispers sweetly: “Smile!”

And Wade does, the grip around his hand so powerful it almost hurts, but this photo is now Peter’s new favorite and he puts it on the wall above the headboard with the biggest smile ever. Wade drapes an arm over his shoulders, caressing his cheek.

“Do you like it?” Peter asks softly looking at him; Wade’s eyes are on the photo, his gaze is intense and his smile is sincere. He finally found the miracle, the magic Peter is able to do, the answer in that picture and says: “Yes.”

Then he clasps his hands, exclaiming: “Come on! We need to take more if we want to cover the entire wall!”

They spend the whole day taking pictures and when the wall is finally filled with images of them doing silly or sweet things, Peter’s head is spinning, because he can’t believe this actually happened. Wade asks him to take out the box again and he doesn’t grimace, doesn’t comment on his own face; he just jokes and asks Peter to put the best ones on the wall on condition that Peter’s own photos will end up there too.

“I will take pictures of your perfect ass and cute Bambi smile and I will put them near mine and the ones we just took.” Wade grins and Peter accepts with a snort, a roll of his eyes and a heart full of joy.

“Peter…” Wade calls that night as he takes one beautiful picture of Peter’s butt. He seems to like the camera now, the young man thinks with a silent laughter.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Peter stays still for few moments, then slowly moves from his spot on the bed to reach Wade and take his hand.

“I…” Wade continues looking at the camera. “I’m sorry for haven’t done this before.”

“Wade...”

Wade looks up at him and _‘snap’_ , Peter’s face is on the film now.

“There is this great spot in the park…” Peter says as he gently removes the camera from Wade’s hands and places it on the nightstand. “We could go there tomorrow and take other photos outside. There are lights and colours everywhere now that Christmas is near.” He pulls Wade until they are both lying on the bed and the scarred man is on top, closing his eyes and humming softly while Peter starts licking his skin.

“There is also a fantastic sight from one of the skyscrapers near our apartment.” the young man continues and Wade laughs, eyes now open and settled on the photos on the wall.

“Wanna take more pictures of us?” he asks softly and when Peter caresses his arm, he looks down at him and smiles.

“It’s a fantastic idea, baby boy.”


End file.
